


Ten More Minutes Continued...

by Aurlana



Series: Dragon Age - Prompt Fills [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Chantry Boys, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, M/M, Minor Character Death, Must have a happy ending!, fixing what's broken, ponticle made me do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurlana/pseuds/Aurlana
Summary: This is the happy ending that Ponticle's story--Ten More Minutes--deserves.Our chantry boys meet up a year after Alistair left his Templar training to join the Warden's. They didn't part on the best of terms and Alistair is carrying around the painful memories of their parting words. Ten years later, they are thrust into each other's lives once again. Will they be able to finally make amends? Can old hurts be forgiven? Will ten-more-minutes truly be enough?





	Ten More Minutes Continued...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ponticle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ten More Minutes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12606556) by [ponticle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle). 



> Ponticle wrote **Ten More Minutes** for me as a treat for the 2017 Black Emporium gift exchange. They left me with a prompt at the end that I couldn't ignore: **AFTERCARE: Imagine they meet up again someday and Cullen has learned from his mistakes. They're finally ready to be together. The rest is history. <3**
> 
> One way or another, these boys were going to get their happy ending! The road to redemption may not always be smooth, but that just makes the destination that much sweeter in the end. 
> 
> You don't need to read the original piece to appreciate this one, but to get the full effect of me answering the call, I highly recommend it. :)

* * *

**This work was originally written for DA Satinalia Week 2017, but has been re-purposed for Alistair Appreciation Week 2018 (May 16 - Hurt and Healing – Angst and Fluff).**

* * *

**Ten More Minutes Continued…**

**A Continuation of,** **Ten More Minutes** **written by Ponticle**

**~Because these boys deserve a happy ending! Damnit!!!~**

* * *

**Kinloch Hold (9:30 Dragon)**

Alistair stumbles into the next room. He’s exhausted and weary. They’ve passed so much death and destruction already, his heart is heavy with the weight of the wasted lives that he couldn’t save. They came here to find aid to help save Eamon and to get support to fight the blight; they weren't expecting--this. Mages turned rogue, taking over the tower; the destruction, the _children_.

Alistair chokes back a sob thinking about the children trapped several rooms back, holding out hope that they can succeed in saving them all from the horrors. Looking to his left he takes in the elderly mage they found steadfastly protecting the little ones. She insisted on accompanying them; he was beyond grateful for the extra help. They were going to need it to survive, to succeed.

Stuck in his own head, he barely registers the field encasing the lone Templar babbling gibberish from within it. They passed so many that didn’t make it; at least this one would have a chance.

Alistair gasps and steps forward as recognition dawns. “Cullen?” he whispers in disbelief.

Cullen looks up and freezes. “This trick again? I know what you are. It won’t work, I will stay strong…”

“Cullen, don’t you recognize me?” Alistair takes another step forward.

“Only too well… how far they must have delved into my thoughts…”

Alistair barely registers Wynne’s concerned comments at his side. “The boy is exhausted. And this cage, I’ve never seen anything like it. Rest easy… help is here.” He’s too busy taking in his old roommate. So different from the confident, cocky person he knew as a boy.

_It hasn’t even been that long, has it? Barely a year? Just over?_

Alistair’s eyes cloud over with the memory of their last words together. How much it hurt to walk away knowing that Cullen didn’t feel--could never feel--the same way he does.

Cullen’s next words bring Alistair’s focus back, “Enough visions. If anything in you is human… kill me now and stop this _game_ . You broke the others, but I will stay strong, for my sake… for theirs… Sifting through my thoughts… tempting me with the one thing that I always wanted but could never have… Using my shame against me… my ill-advised infatuation with _him_ … a farce of a man--too good to be a lowly Templar. I am so tired of these cruel jokes… these tricks… these…”

Alistair tries to hide his shock; his hurt. “Cullen, I--”

“Silence…” Cullen closes his eyes and exclaims, “I’ll not listen to anything you say. Now begone!” Cullen looks up, surprised. “Still here? But that’s always worked before. I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them.”

Alistair sneers, “Don’t worry, Cullen, you’ll get your wish and I’ll _be gone_ before the day is through. Whether I die trying to save your ass, or we get what we came for and leave--I will once again be out of your life.”

Cullen sighs defeatedly. “I am beyond caring what you think. The Maker knows my sin and I pray that he will forgive me.”

Alistair rolls his eyes and is about to respond when the Warden steps between them. “There is no shame in caring for someone.”

Cullen focuses on the Warden with recognition. “It was the foolish fancy of a naive boy. I know better now. Why have _you_ returned to the tower? How did you survive?”

“Is it so surprising that I’ve returned? This was my home.”

Alistair can barely stand it. He _should_ be ecstatic; the one person he allowed himself to fall for--and subsequently was rejected by--just admitted to feeling the same; or did _once_ . The knowledge was bittersweet, surrounded by _shame, sin, him of all things;_ it’s all wrong--tainted. Alistair snorts. Of course Cullen would be hung up on all of _that._

He looks at Cullen now, so different than when they’d parted ways. He looks older, weary, broken. Alistair steels himself; they’re not out of danger yet; Uldred is still up in the harrowing chamber and needs to be dealt with. The Warden and Cullen are currently arguing over whether they should all be killed or not. Thankfully, the Warden is more rational than that.

“But you haven’t been up there. You haven’t been under their influence. They’ve been surrounded b-by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts,” Cullen pleads.

Alistair shakes his head in wonder at how far he’s fallen. “His hatred of mages is so intense… the memory of his friends’ deaths is fresh in his mind.” He’s not sure what’s going to happen with Cullen, but Alistair can’t bear to watch anymore, so he turns on his heel. “Give us _ten more minutes_ , Cullen. We’ll clear the tower for you, save whoever we can, whether you like it or not, then we’ll be out of your hair; you’ll be free of me once again.”

As they ascend the stairs, Alistair hears Cullen’s parting words, “No one ever listens, not until it’s _far_ too late. Maker turn his gaze on you. I hope your compassion hasn’t doomed us all.”

It doesn’t take long for the threat to be dispatched. They retrieve Cullen from the room they left him in. He won’t even look at Alistair and that’s just fine with him. What they ‘ _never had’_ was destroyed before he left to become a Warden. Alistair tries to tell himself that it’s better this way; tries to ignore the tugging at his heart.

They make it down to Greagoir on the first floor, Cullen spewing his hatred the whole way. It disgusts Alistair and he’s looking forward to putting all of this behind him. He needs to once again lock his feelings for Cullen away so he can focus on the crisis at hand. He takes a few minutes to gather his thoughts and watch the proceedings from an out of the way corner of the room.

The Warden is talking with Irving and Greagoir, solidifying the plan to have the Mages join them when it comes time to face the archdemon. He lets his gaze surreptitiously fall to Cullen, sitting on a cot across the room. He’s huddled into himself, rocking, battling his internal demons with newfound layers of acrimony, bigotry, and contempt.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the Warden’s approach, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready to go?” he asks with concern.

With a tight lipped smile, he looks back over at Cullen. He knows it will never be like it was, like he used to dream it _could_ be.

* * *

_What the hell am I doing here?_ Alistair thinks as he catches his first glimpse of the fortress, Skyhold. His gaze flicks over to the giant rift in the sky which momentarily blocks out the quiet song always present in his head these days. He sighs heavily, knowing his time is coming to an end. _Oh, right._ He thinks. _If I can’t save myself, at least I can die trying to save others._ With a calm sense of resignation and determination, he follows Hawke, the Inquisitor, and a small group of their associates toward the keep.

Their first order of business is to find out what happened to the rest of the Wardens, then hopefully, they’ll be able to figure out how to seal that damn rift once and for all. His grim sense of duty is all he has left. _The Warden_ died in the battle against the archdemon, Alistair’s grief at losing his best friend was so great that he decided to abdicate the throne and let Anora lead after all. He’d become too cynical and jaded to rule properly anyway. The country had already been ripped apart by despair and loss; what the people needed was someone that could give them hope and purpose. Alistair knew unequivocally, that he wasn’t the person to give it to them. He managed a strained, yet working relationship with Anora, giving her his crown while she let him alone to help rebuild the Wardens in Ferelden. It worked. It was enough

It’s a job that he takes very seriously... or at least, he _did_ before they all started disappearing and he noticed the early stages of the Calling; whispering for him to come home. He barely sleeps anymore, dreams overrun with images of death and despair. He’s lucky if he can grab an hour or two unhindered by nightmares. He endures, knowing that it won’t last much longer now. His time is almost up, but he will do _what_ he can, _while_ he can, to help others.

His first night at Skyhold is spent catching up with Leliana. They toast to friends lost and Alistair learns that not only is Leliana here as the Inquisition’s spymaster, but Cullen has left the Templar order and is currently commanding the Inquisition’s forces. He does a double take at this information; being a Templar was the _only_ thing Cullen _ever_ cared about. But that doesn’t mean he wants to have anything to do with him. No one can change _that_ much, and Cullen made his feelings perfectly clear.

Leliana tries to reassure him that Cullen _has_ changed, but it’s too little too late; Alistair knows where he stands and how Cullen feels about him.

Once she retires for the evening, he tries in vain to sleep, but soon gives up and gives in to his usual restlessness. He needs to walk or find a practice dummy so he can work himself to exhaustion to be able to sleep.

Grabbing his old, tattered-green traveling cloak, he wraps it around his shoulders, pulls the hood over his head, straps his sword to his back, and heads out into the stillness of the night. He finds himself walking along the battlements, greeting the occasional guard as he passes. He must walk the perimeter of the keep for hours, because the sky is beginning to lighten by the time he stops to look over the frozen lake below. It’s beautiful here, almost peaceful. If the world wasn’t in such dire straits, he could see himself enjoying his time here. He takes a deep, cleansing, breath as the door to his left opens. Alistair’s body goes rigid when he hears the one voice he never wanted to hear again.

“Who are you and what business do you have on _my_ battlements?” Cullen’s voice is strong and confident, much different than the last time they talked.

Moving slowly, Alistair raises his hands and slowly pushes back the hood of his cloak as he turns to glare at Cullen. “Do you _really_ think introductions are necessary after all this time, Cullen?” he asks darkly. “As for what I’m doing on _your_ battlements, you’ll have to ask your Inquisitor… or perhaps Hawke. I’m just a token Warden trying to do his part to fix this clusterfuck of a world we call Thedas. But as I’ve never been one to want to _burden_ you, I’ll take my leave.” He turns and begins to walk away.

“Alistair wait.” Cullen’s voice is softer now. “You… you surprised me. I thought…I thought you were dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Commander.”

There are several similar interactions between Alistair and Cullen from the time he arrives until they’re supposed to leave for Adamant Fortress. Alistair tries his best to avoid him and stay out of his way, but the Commander is persistent, if nothing else.

“Why are you avoiding me, Alistair?” Cullen has Alistair cornered in the Chantry garden.

“Because I’m a big boy now, Cullen. I’m no longer anyone’s _charity case_.” Alistair’s voice is steel and his eyes aren’t much kinder.

Cullen’s face falls. “Look, Al. I… I’m sorry, alright? That was really mean of me to say, but I didn’t mean it. You were never a burden, you were never my charity case.”

“Right; you didn’t mean it. You expect me to just take you at face value after all this time? You pretended to be my friend, and when all I wanted to do was say goodbye, you took the only happy memories I had growing up and _poisoned_ them. It was a lie. It was always a lie.”

Alistair tries to walk away, but Cullen catches his wrist. “Please, Al.” Cullen pleads. “Just give me _ten more minutes_ so I can apologize--so I can explain.”

Alistair’s temper flares; he steps right into Cullen’s space. They’re close, nose too nose, and he can feel Cullen’s breath on his lips. It’s too much and yet, not enough. With a growl he rips his wrist out of Cullen’s grasp. “I gave you _years_ of my life, Cullen; thinking that you fucking cared. Why should I waste even _one_ more minute of my time with you? You made it very clear… I mean _nothing_ to you.” With that, Alistair pushes past Cullen and heads for the stairs.

* * *

Alistair steps out of the fade, aching from head to toe. Nothing hurts more than his heart. Hawke stayed behind so that they could escape.

_Why him? He has friends and people that care. What the hell do I have to live for?_

Alistair looks around briefly at the welcome everyone is getting. Dorian is fussing over the Inquisitor like he’s never going to let him out of his sight again. Varric is being comforted by Cassandra and Krem is giving The Iron Bull a once over.

The brief speech given by the Inquisitor simultaneously gave Alistair a new purpose and probably pissed Cullen off. Just what he needs: another reason for Cullen to hate him. With the Wardens joining the Inquisition under Alistair’s charge, it looks like Alistair will have to work with Cullen for a little while longer.

_Fucking great._

He’ll have to figure that out later. For now, he’s barely on his feet and needs to find the healer’s tent. After he makes sure that he’s no longer needed, he turns and limps away from the crowd; the hand cupping his ribs is sticky with blood, but he thinks it _mostly_ stopped flowing freely by now.  

As he climbs over rubble, he realizes that he probably should have asked for directions before he walked off. He’s not sure exactly where he’s going, but he’s definitely sure that he doesn’t want to be anywhere near the celebration going on in the courtyard right now. There’s too much affection going on between the people greeting their loved ones that survived and one of the only two friends he has just got left behind in the fucking fade.

Tripping over a stray piece of rubble, Alistair grabs onto a wall to keep from falling. Leaning up against it, out of sight from everyone else, he allows himself a moment to regain his composure. There was a moment when he stumbled out of the fade when his eyes locked with Cullen’s. He thought he might have detected a twinge of relief, but Cullen was back to barking orders to his soldiers before Alistair could process it properly.  

He can barely draw a breath, as the tears start to fall. He remembers the demon from the Fade, holding what he fears most in front of him: amber eyes, curly blonde hair, never being what Cullen wants, never being enough. Those harsh words from their youth still haunt him.

He hears careful footfalls approach. It’s _him_. Of course it is. Alistair quickly wipes his eyes from the errant tears and clears his throat. “I just needed a moment to catch my breath.” He says, keeping all emotion out of his voice.

“You’re hurt.” Cullen’s voice is soft with concern.

“You’re very perceptive. What gave it away, the bloody wound or was it something less obvious?” He scoffed, pushing himself from the wall. “I am on my way to the healers now, you don’t need to bother--” Taking a step forward, Alistair stumbles.

Cullen catches him before he hits the ground.

He tries to pull himself away, but Cullen wraps his arm over his shoulder and supports his weight as much as possible. “C’mon, Al. I’ll help you get there. You’re headed in the wrong direction anyway.”

“You really don’t need to; you have more important things to do than help _me_.”

“There’s never been anything more important than you.”

It’s barely a whisper, Alistair’s not sure he hears him correctly. “What was that?”

Cullen simply says, “they can handle themselves for _ten more minutes_ while I get you to the healers.”

* * *

The next few days are a blur for Alistair. He doesn’t remember much after Cullen found him. He remembers startled cries and a flurry of people working around him; tugging at him and stripping off his armor. The pain is a distant, yet constant companion. He vaguely remembers lying in a carriage, or maybe it was a wagon, or on litter or something, but there were lots of bumps along the way, like he was being moved somewhere. His mind must really be messing with him because he thinks he also hears Cullen’s voice soothing him from his nightmares, wiping sweat from his forehead, and talking quietly to him during their travels.

When he wakes fully for the first time, he’s lying in a soft bed, he feels clean and mostly healed, but still has some bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs, arm, and head. The only light is from a single candle which is casting strange shadows flickering around the otherwise dark room. Shifting uncomfortably, Alistair notices Cullen sleeping in a chair at his side. He’s slumped over Alistair’s bed, with his head resting heavily on Alistair’s leg; both of his hands are gripping tightly to one of Alistair’s.

He tugs weakly to try to pull his hand free without success. He’s about to say something or try again when a healer comes in to check on him. She seems surprised to find him awake, but pleased nonetheless.

“It is good to see you awake, serah. You’ve had us all worried; especially the Commander.”

“How long... “ Alistair begins, but isn’t sure how to finish that sentence.

“You’ve been unconscious for over a week, serah.” She looked fondly at Cullen currently pinning Alistair to the bed and indicated a desk littered with papers in the corner. “The Commander has refused to leave your side. We even had to move you to a special room with a desk so that he could still do his work while he waited for you to wake up.” She gave Alistair a quick check over and made sure he drank a cup of water before preparing to leave.

“Would you like me to wake the Commander for you before I go? Move him from your leg, perhaps?”

Alistair blinks a couple times while looking at Cullen, then makes a decision. “That’s all right. I think I’ll let him sleep for _ten more minutes_ before I push him off of me. It looks like he could use the rest.”

She nods sagely, then exits the room, leaving Alistair to observe Cullen unhindered. He takes in the evidence of his prolonged stay: ink stains on his fingers, smudges on his cheeks, dark circles under his eyes, hair’s a mess, and it doesn’t look like he’s shaved since Adamant if the full beard is any indicator. He itches to brush the errant curls from Cullen’s forehead, but the vice-like grip on his hand won’t release him to do so.

Resigning himself to his unusual predicament, Alistair takes the opportunity to re-memorize all of Cullen: new wrinkles, the scar on his upper lip, the softness to his features while he rests. He falls asleep cataloging the callouses on Cullen’s hands as they press against his own.

_Maybe_ … he thinks as his eyes drift shut. _Maybe I died after all. Surely, this can’t be real._

* * *

Alistair wakes again to low murmuring in the room. Leliana and Cullen are talking heatedly over the top of him.

“Hey, there’s no need to fight over me. I have enough Warden stamina to go around,” he interrupts.

Leliana snorts and laughs then smacks him in the arm. “Alistair!”

“Oooh, you wound me!”

“You had us worried sick,” she says smiling, then crushes him with a hug.

“Ouch, Lel. Careful of the ribs.”

“Sorry, Al. The healers did what they could, but you had more damage done to you than what we originally thought. Some of this…” She waves her hands vaguely, indicating his whole body, “...is just going to take time to get better. But the healers assure us that you will recover fully.”

Alistair tries to smile. “Thank you, Lel. I’m sorry to be such a burden.” Cullen tightens his grip on Alistair’s hand at his words, but he won’t meet his eyes.

With a look, Alistair tries to convey the question of Cullen’s presence to Leliana.

She nods minutely and shrugs. “Maybe now that you’re on the mend, I can have my Commander back.” She teases lightly.

“I’ve been doing my job, Leliana. Everything is being taken care of.” His eyes are still downcast, but there’s a familiar stubborn rigidness to his shoulders that Alistair remembers.

“But when was the last time you joined us in the war room? I keep having to send you reports. But today’s meeting cannot wait. And you _must_ be there.”

Cullen sighs, resigned. “Ok, Lel, just give me _ten more minutes_ and I’ll be there. Okay?”

She smiles triumphantly, kisses Alistair on the cheek, then leaves with a quick wink to Alistair over her shoulder.

Cullen seems nervous. He stands, only to move to the edge of the bed, never letting go of Alistair’s hand. His gaze is on their fingers threaded together, absentmindedly running the fingers of his other hand over Alistair’s knuckles. “You scared the hell out of me, Al.”

Something shifts tangibly between them. Half convinced that he’s probably still dreaming, Alistair decides that if this is real, this might be his only chance to touch Cullen so intimately. If his near death experience is the catalyst that opens the door for them to finally be open and honest with each other, he would be really stupid to pass up the opportunity.

Alistair reaches with his other hand and lays it on Cullen’s shoulder, tugging him gently toward his chest. Cullen stiffens briefly, then with a decisive sigh, relaxes into Alistair’s touch and rearranges himself so that he’s lying carefully on the bed in Alistair’s arms.

Cullen sobs softly into Alistair’s neck. “I’m so sorry, Alistair. You never deserved what I did to you. You were always so honest and kind; you are the best friend I’ve ever had, and I was just… so hurt that you were choosing to leave me. I didn’t know how to tell you and… I felt rejected, y’know? I didn’t understand what we had until it was gone. I didn’t know how much being without you would hurt. But, I don’t want to be without you anymore. I don’t know that you’ll ever be able to forgive me, Al, but I’d like the chance to try.”

Alistair’s hands still during Cullen’s confession and he just holds him close. When Cullen eventually looks up, Alistair brushes the tears from his cheeks, with a soft smile on his face. They’re so close, nose to nose, it wouldn’t take much effort to lean in for a kiss. Alistair lifts his head, an invitation, an admission. Cullen dips in and meets him in the middle. Their lips barely touch, a chaste kiss to test the waters. When Cullen pulls back, it’s Alistair who is crying.

But now they’re both smiling, so Alistair quips, “so much for us not having these… feelings huh?”

Cullen chokes out, “I almost lost you, Al. I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t want to.”

There’s another chaste kiss before Alistair reminds Cullen that he has a meeting to attend. “It’s been more than ten minutes, Cullen. I wouldn’t want to get on Leliana’s bad side, if I were you.”

Cullen reluctantly stands and collects his things, promising to come back as soon as the meeting is over.

* * *

A couple hours pass, Alistair is freshly bathed and just putting on the last pieces of his clean and repaired uniform when Cullen comes back with a sack in his hand. He stops just inside the door, looking Alistair up and down.

A small smile tugs at Alistair’s mouth. “See something you like, Commander?”

The immediate flush to Cullen’s cheeks makes Alistair regret his comment. “I’m sorry, Cullen. That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He turns away with his head bowed, tugging uncomfortably at his sleeves.

A dull thud lands on the bed a half second before strong arms wrap around Alistair’s shoulders. “Please don’t apologize, Al. You aren’t wrong, after all.” Cullen places a kiss at the base of Alistair’s neck before turning him around and pulling him into a hug. “Maker’s breath, it’s so good to see you up and about again.”

Alistair returns the hug and says, almost to himself, “Please tell me that I’m not dreaming. I can’t tell you how many times that I’ve dreamed of this.” His arms tighten around Cullen as he pulls back with a grin. “And… this,” he says breathlessly as he leans in for another kiss, this time flicking his tongue tentatively over Cullen’s lips, who groans and opens to it.

Cullen pulls back dazedly. “I can’t believe we get to have this. I’m almost afraid someone is going to try to take it from us.” His cheeks are still flushed, but his eyes are searching Alistair’s face in wide eyed wonder.

“I think we’ve waited long enough for this.” He chuckles, some of the mischievousness from their youth bleeding through. “Besides, I don’t think you have anyone here willing to tell the _Commander of the Inquisition_ what he can or can’t have.”  

After a few more minutes of gentle kisses and caresses, Cullen shoulders the sack he dumped on Alistair’s bed. “Do you think you’re up for a walk?”

“As long as it’s not too far, I think it would be ok. Why? What do you have in mind?”

Cullen takes Alistair’s hand and leads him out the door. “Just… trust me.”

Alistair finds himself on the top of one of the corner towers of the keep. There is a soft pallet for them to sit on together and a couple of blankets to stave off the evening chill. Cullen helps Alistair to sit while he begins to unpack various items from the sack: a loaf of bread, Alistair’s favorite Ferelden cheese and a bottle of wine to wash it down with.

They sit for hours, holding each other, talking, and kissing sweetly. Cullen eventually notices that Alistair’s energy is starting to flag. Pulling him in for another kiss, Cullen whispers, “maybe we should head back. It’s your first day out of bed, I don’t want you to over do it.”

Exhausted but content, Alistair shakes his head. “I’m not ready yet; I don’t want to have to let you go. Please… just _ten more minutes_?” He rests his head on Cullen’s shoulder and sighs happily.

Cullen smiles, stroking his hand through Alistair’s hair. “We can wait _the ten minutes_ to head back down, but I don’t plan on ever letting you go again.”

* * *

**Alistair Appreciation Week - Day Three - May 16, 2017 - Hurt and Healing – Angst and Fluff**

**Prompt:**

_How upset can you make Alistair in your fanworks? Or do you rather focus on sweet moments of comfort and reassurance? Maybe both? Either way, this is the day for all those feels!_

* * *

**DA Satinalia Week -** **Day Two - December 19, 2017 -** **AWAKENINGS**

**Prompt:**

_Ahhh, the bitter taste of regret. on the second day, everything is a good opportunity to make amends, to reconcile and find redemption, perhaps, or to forgive an old enemy. how would your favorite character handle the ghosts of christmas past? how would they find inner peace and comfort?_

**Author's Note:**

> My humble thanks to the amazing Ponticle for baiting me to write this bit of angst and fluff, and for always having my back.  
> You're the best! /hugs


End file.
